


martyrs play for money

by cuneifire (orphan_account)



Category: Gorillaz
Genre: Abusive Relationships, Angst, Drabble, M/M, Phase Three (Gorillaz)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-22
Updated: 2019-06-22
Packaged: 2020-05-16 06:41:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 360
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19312732
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/cuneifire
Summary: Kissing him always tastes like regret.





	martyrs play for money

 It’s an easy pattern to fall into; a half sigh here, a hand to the thigh there, a brief blink and then a kiss, and then an unbuttoned shirt, and then a drunken fuck, and then, of course, regret.

Murdoc knows the fucking process, and 2d can pretend all he wants, but he does too.

Shoulders slam against the wall, ocean visible from the window of 2d’s locked room. 2d stares at him, eyes unreadable (of course they are, of course he is) as his hands shift up to pull on Murdoc’s forearms, tracing lines down to his wrists, cold and grasping, boney fingers wrapping around Murdoc’s own.

There’s a glint of a smile on 2d’s face, but it disappears like the trick of the light that it is.

And then Murdoc’s falling, falling forward because 2d’s tugged on his wrists so he does, gripping spiked blue hair in his hands and leaning in to run tongue over teeth.

2d always undoubtedly tastes like medicine. It’s fainter now, but he notices.

And pills taste fucking disgusting, but Murdoc kisses him anyways.

.

Murdoc’s fingers dig little crescents into his skin; 2d wonders if he’ll bruise tomorrow.

Perhaps, he thinks half heartedly as he tugs Murdoc by the wrist toward him, cold metal to his back and an ache in his heart, he won’t.

Murdoc looks at him like he’s crazy, and 2d ignores him, just tallying it up with the bruises and the blood and pulls him into a kiss.

Murdoc, he’d noted on many occasions, tastes like an off-kilter combo of cigarettes, hard liquor of varying types, and something else, practically indescribable, unique to him and him alone.

 2d calls it ash, but truth be told he’d never tasted ash.

But that was what kissing Murdoc tasted like; ruin, a sort of rot and decay that pulled you in by your very bones and did not let you go, because _this is who you are,_ and _this is what you wanted,_ and _aren’t you happy?_

_Aren’t you happy?_

But Murdoc tastes like ash, the beach is made of plastic, and 2d doesn’t know how to give any answer but _no._


End file.
